


Rose's Petals

by tjs_whatnot



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Fluff, Post War, Post-War, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: Eternity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-22
Updated: 2008-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-27 07:51:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10804938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tjs_whatnot/pseuds/tjs_whatnot
Summary: Moments after her birth, Rose's magic inspires her parents...





	Rose's Petals

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** Originally written for Ronsexuals March HelmetFest08

  **ROSE'S PETALS**

 

Ron paced back and forth in the sitting room of his house nervously. The other men in the room—the other _fathers_ , he reminded himself with a shudder—were laughing and exchanging stories. Ron tuned them out, focusing all his energy on Hermione instead.

They laughed at him for being nervous. But he knew something that no one else did. He knew that behind her quick wit and intelligence was a passionate fear of the unknown, behind her brawny audacity was a buried fragility.  

He bolted up the stairs, two at a time, ignoring the calls from below and opened the door of his bedroom. The smell of stale air, blood and singed magic assailed his nostrils, almost causing him to stumble back out of the room.   

The women in the room: his mum, Fluer, the medi-witch midwife and Ginny—herself almost ready to pop with her second—where too busy with Hermione’s painful moans to pay him any attention. To avoid looking at his beloved’s weakness too fully, he looked around the room. The vase after vase of red roses in various stages of decay littered the room. He had been bringing them home for the last ten days, as they were both convinced each day that it was “THE DAY.”  

Now their drooping buds and wilted petals seemed macabre; a reminder of life’s frailty. Maybe his dad was right, maybe a man only got in the way at times like this. He contemplated skulking back out when his mother’s shriek announced to them all he was there.  “Ronald Weasley, what are you—”  

_“Ron,”_ a hoarse, gasping voice cut across.  

Ron staggered across the room avoiding the view of her lower half draped precariously with a sheet. He also avoided the glares of the women in the room. He no longer cared if this was not how it was done. Damn them all. If Hermione needed him, he was there.  

“Yes love.”  

She reached out her hand and Ron took it in his. Almost crying out with the strength of her grasp and the clammy feel of her, he looks at the women, panicked. “She’s alright?”  

“Fine,” Molly said, shooing away the thought and then going into a long detailed story of one of her many, many experiences. Ron wasn’t listening, instead watching the veins in Hermione’s neck and forehead popping.  

_“Ron,”_ she whispered. He leaned down to hear her better. “It hurts so much. No one told me it would hurt this much.”  

“We _all_ told you,” Ginny corrected.   

“Ron, listen to me.” Ron wiped a sweaty limp piece of hair off her face. “Will you tell your sister to shut up?”  

Laughing, he turned to Ginny, “Shut up.”  

Ginny stuck her tongue at him, but then kept her mouth shut.  

“Now tell your mum to shut up. Tell it to everyone saying this is perfectly natural.”  

Ron kissed her gently on the forehead, “Yes love, I will tell them all.” He cleared his throat, “From now on, none of you are to talk to my wife. If you need her to know something, you tell me.”  

She smiled weakly and then clutched his hand as she gasped with another contraction. In a moment that seemed to last forever Ron clinched as his own pain washed over him, the shared magic that had always connected them, burned and the torture was unbearable. Then it passed and Ron and Hermione were left breathless at the surprise of the experience more than the ache.  

“Did you feel that?” Hermione whispered.  

Ron nodded, unable to speak just yet.  The midwife said something about pushing and then something about seeing the head but Ron couldn’t focus, all he could see was Hermione’s hand in his; all he could feel was Hermione’s fear and pain. Then all he could hear was the wailing of a little life that a moment before wasn’t there.    

The fear and pain was gone and Hermione’s hand slipped out of his hand. His mother placed the baby wrapped up in a blanket in his arms, and then he couldn’t see anything through the tears.   

After handing the baby to Hermione and wiping at his eyes the first thing he marveled at was the look in Hermione’s eyes as she looked at their child. The second thing that amazed him was how alert and seemingly curious the baby was as she looked to be scanning the room. Ron followed the baby’s eyes and finally marveled again as the roses began to rise on their stems and the life began to return to them.  

“Rose,” he whispered in awe.  

“Rose,” Hermione agreed.


End file.
